Chapter Sixty-One: Xiang Yu’s Blade

Marlbon wanted desperately to drive away, but he knew the Mercedes across from him was there for him and would never let him escape so easily. Besides, as the most notorious assassin in Britain, ranked among the top ten killers in the world, if he fled now, even if he managed to get away by sheer luck, it would mean the absolute end of his career. For an assassin, to suddenly abandon the trade spells a fate too obvious to state—the relatives of those unfortunate souls he had eliminated would certainly seek revenge in kind. They, too, could hire a killer to hunt down Marlbon, ensuring his death would be nothing short of horrific. Even if Marlbon fled to the ends of the earth, he would never truly escape.

While he was still active in the underworld, he could use his reputation to intimidate many, but once retired, no one would spare him—they would only wish for his swift destruction. Such is reality, the merciless nature of society.

Suddenly, the door of the Mercedes flew open, and a young woman emerged. She wore a long black trench coat and her face was veiled in black. In her hand, she carried a rifle. Under the distant streetlight, and illuminated by the headlights of the Honda, her shadow stretched long and ominous. The aura of killing intent radiating from her made Marlbon instinctively reach for his gun. He gripped his weapon with ease—his trusty Desert Eagle, which had claimed nearly a thousand lives at his hand, felt like an extension of his own body. Even though the woman, Phoenix, held a rifle, Marlbon was confident he was not at a disadvantage.

But before he could even open his car door, Phoenix raised her rifle and fired without a word. Startled, Marlbon lunged from his car, rolling to the ground five meters away just as the Honda was engulfed in flames—though strangely, it did not explode.

No sooner had Marlbon scrambled to his feet than Phoenix kicked the gun from his hand. She had already returned the rifle to her car, yet suddenly she was standing before him.

Marlbon’s reflexes were quick; he threw a straight punch at Phoenix’s throat—a move so simple it was deadly. He had used it to kill at least five renowned assassins before. The simplest moves are often the most lethal; the kindest-looking person can sometimes kill without remorse.

With his other hand, Marlbon covertly drew the dagger hidden in his jacket. Seeing that Phoenix made no attempt to dodge, a smile crept onto his lips. Even if she evaded his punch, he was sure he could drive the dagger straight into her heart—a technique as simple as it was fatal, and one he relied on often.

But his vision blurred for a split second, and a sharp pain shot through his right wrist. A flash of steel, and his fist was sent flying, blood arcing along its original path. The agony that followed was excruciating.

There was no point in trying to stab with his left hand; Phoenix had already retreated three meters away. She would never allow her prey’s blood to stain her. The knife in her hand was of an ancient, exotic design. She gripped it horizontally before her eyes, aligning her gaze with the blade. The blood along the edge quickly coagulated into a thin line, dripping one bead at a time from the slightly tilted tip, until the blade was spotless once more.

Phoenix emerges, the gods recede.

With Xiang Yu’s Blade unsheathed, all demons and ghosts are banished.

Marlbon did not cry out in pain. Even as his right wrist was severed, he made no sound. He was captivated by the knife in Phoenix’s hand. He recognized it—every assassin, even if they had never seen Phoenix in person, had heard of her and the legendary blade she wielded.

“You… you… you’re Phoenix?” Marlbon’s eyes widened, his heart pounding with excitement. The dagger fell from his left hand, but he showed no fear—only a strange pride, as if seeing Phoenix with his own eyes was an honor worth dying for, leaving him without the slightest regret.

When Xiang Yu’s Blade sliced open Marlbon’s throat, he gasped his last words, “You… you… you’re… Phoe… Phoenix!”

Marlbon was dead, but he died with a smile, no regret on his face.

No one in the world of assassins had not heard of Phoenix.

Yet no one knew if Phoenix was man or woman.

Few had ever seen Xiang Yu’s Blade.

And those who had, were mostly dead.

Just as Long Fei had said, Qi Yufei was waiting for Ye Qian in the living room. Seeing her daughter’s face still pale with lingering fright, Qi Yufei’s maternal instincts kicked in. “Qian, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Since she had returned home safely, Ye Qian decided not to trouble her mother with the truth. In her heart, though, she resolved to confront Long Fei tomorrow—wasn’t he supposed to be her bodyguard? How could he enjoy himself while letting her fall into danger?

“Mom, I’m fine. Just a bit tired. I’ll go up and rest. You should get some sleep, too.” Ye Qian tried her best to appear calm, but her heart thudded uncontrollably in her chest.

Ignoring Qi Yufei’s further questions, Ye Qian fled to her room, leaning against the door and taking several deep breaths.

There’s no place like home.

Damn Long Fei, you’re not getting away with this!

Still sweating from the earlier tension, Ye Qian headed to the bathroom. Gazing at her reflection, she pouted; she had to admit, her figure was nearly perfect and her face undeniably beautiful. The only flaw, in her eyes, was her chest.

She kneaded her petite curves with frustration, wishing desperately for them to grow.

Qi Yufei, still worried, called out a few more times from outside. Only after confirming Ye Qian was truly all right did she retire to her own room, her heart not entirely at ease.

After her shower, Ye Qian lay in bed, unable to sleep. Her mind replayed the dangers she had just faced on the road, then wandered to Long Fei and Yang Danni, imagining them tangled together in bed. The moans she’d overheard last night filled her with both jealousy and excitement. She was shocked to find herself aroused.

Damn you, Long Fei, I hate you!

Cursing him once more, she began to count sheep—one to ten thousand, then recited “Amitabha” ten thousand times, then back to counting sheep.